


Body Language

by Prototype (buttelf)



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Cuddling, Dancing, M/M, Meddling Matchmaker First Aid, Mutual Masturbation, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Public Display of Affection, Requited Love, Scissoring, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, The Transformers: More Than Meets the Eye (IDW), dratchet - Freeform, have fun kiddies, more-than-meets-the-canon, plot twist: its both, sexy speedsters, teasing medics, theres a little plot, up to you to decide if its SFW or NSFW dancing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-20
Updated: 2016-10-20
Packaged: 2018-08-23 16:17:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8334145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/buttelf/pseuds/Prototype
Summary: Ratchet is high-strung. Drift is caught amidst his anger. They find more than one way to burn the energy. Dancing of all kinds ensues.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to my first Transformers fic!
> 
> This is super inspired by my favourite dratchet author SlimReaper/Iopele, but also largely fueled by my intense need for robots scissoring.
> 
> It was only a matter of time.

By the time he had finally left the empty medbay, Ratchet was _fuming_. He needed to see Drift, _now_. He wasn't angry with his lover, no– he was angry because both of their duty shifts had gone several hours overtime _again_ , and for no better reason than the fact that nobody had been presently available to relieve them. 

200 fragging mecha trapped on this ship, and not two were willing to spare a shift to release the couple from the grip of work. 

Unbelievable. Quite _literally_ unbelievable. _Conveniently_ unbelievable. Where the pit _was_ everybody?

Ratchet was in the middle of opening a comlink to Drift just as he ran into him on his way back to their hab suite. Drift technically wasn't off work yet... but, well, neither was Ratchet. To be quite honest, he'd had quite enough of their _work_ for right now, anyways.

Though Drift had initially started complaining as Ratchet very nearly dragged him back to their hab suite, the swordsmech picked himself to his feet and walked alongside a frustrated Ratchet when he realized the medic wasn't about to let him go back to his post. Drift didn't dare speak up after that point, waiting for Ratchet to take the lead on that when he felt ready.

He has seen Ratchet pissed off before (everyone has), but this wasn't the same anger. It was extreme frustration and exhaustion. Though, knowing the medic as he did, it would probably evolve into the famous temper that Ratchet expressed so frequently.

He wasn't particularly worried about that, though. Right now, Drift was more focused on the high-strung tension that bled unhidden into the medic's field, which washed over Drift with a vengeance. There were no real secrets between them anymore, and Ratchet had long since ceased to hide how he felt with Drift (even if Drift didn't always do the same), but Drift wanted to know what was going on and if his lover was going to be alright. 

If _they_ were going to be alright. 

Had Drift himself done something wrong to put that kind of stress into Ratchet's field? Probably. He always knew he wasn't good enough for a mech like Ratchet. All pristine and beautiful... Being with a gutter mech like himself would just... contaminate him, wouldn't it? Of course.

More particularly nasty thoughts milled through Drift's mind as they walked, and Ratchet had turned his head to his lover and gave him a _look_.

"It's not you, you know," he mumbled, and that was when Drift belatedly realized that all of his guilt and self-hate had been practically thrown on display in both his body language and his field alike. 

"I... yeah. I can't help it, sorry," Drift replied in a small voice, "still hard to believe this is happening." 

_This,_ or, _their relationship,_ had been a rocky one for several millennia. Starting in a very unorthodox way all that time ago back in Rodion, Drift had never even let himself _dream_ of this handsome medic showing him the blatant affection that he did now, but he wasn't about to complain, oh no. Drift still wasn't sure what it was about him that made Ratchet stay, but despite their history, being with him felt right even if all odds said it shouldn't. 

Ratchet seemed to think the same, because a warm red hand slid up against Drift's tightly clenched one, and as soon as contact was made, Drift softened his grip and opened it up for him to link their fingers together. Ratchet squeezed his hand reassuringly.

"I know. Still couldn't be happier, though." 

Drift gave him a real smile and his field twinkled with a small wave of genuine love. Ratchet just smirked, still a little surprised that such a small token of affection went to such lengths to completely turn the swordsmech's mood around. 

Their hands never left each other's grips and they walked in a much lighter atmosphere up to Drift's hab suite. After they had opened and closed (and locked) their door, Ratchet crossed the room in three running steps and practically flung himself onto their shared berth before letting out a long, exhausted groan. 

Drift snickered while he passed the pile of growly medic to get them a cube of energon each, and Ratchet laid on his stomach and crossed his arms under his chin and swore. 

"I am so slagging sick of work right now," he hissed to mostly himself.

Drift held his cube and handed the other to his lover. "Coming from the workaholic himself, that's saying something." He patted Ratchet's head teasingly but sat down with beside him on the berth anyways. "But yeah, I'm with you on that."

Ratchet then repositioned himself a little bit, gently laying his helm on Drift's lap. The swordsmech's gentle fingers caressed his chevron and stroked along his audials comfortingly.

Ratchet melted under him, but still looked up at Drift with a sorrowful expression. "Rodimus has got you working hard too, I bet," he said as more of a statement than anything else, to which Drift nodded in agreement. Then Ratchet continued, "well, harder than usual." 

Drift looked down at him and frowned. "What's that supposed to mean? You saying I slack off any other time?" He pretended to be mad but his field stayed playful against Ratchet's. 

The medic's optics rolled as he smirked. "No, I'm saying you work hard _all the time,_ you aft. Now you're working even _harder_ , and for what? Our scanners have been clean for months now."

Drift didn't reply immediately. He always supposed that the _countless_ hours of overtime were for safety precautions, or because they were short on mecha able to take the extra shifts, or... well, something. He had no idea, in all honesty. The point was, he never really questioned his duties until Ratchet had pointed it out. Now that he thought about it, though, he wanted to smack a hand to his face for being so damn blind, but one hand held a cube of energon and the other was stroking Ratchet's helm, so he just grumbled. "I'm sure Rodimus has his reasons," he mumbled, but Drift wasn't even convincing _himself_ about that, meaning there was no way he'd convince Ratchet. 

Ratchet rolled his optics again, but this time was significantly less playful than the first. "Well then Rodimus can take those _reasons_ and stuff them up his-"

_"Ratchet!"_ Drift interrupted hotly.

_"What?_ It's true! He's got no business running this place the way he does, captain of the ship or not." Ratchet became tense again, but Drift lulled him back to relaxation by moving his hand down to stroke along his cheek. The medic's next words were softer and held more emotion than Drift was prepared for at the time. "Also, I don't get to see _you_ much anymore, and that's what makes me the most upset." 

Drift looked down at him with wide optics and the hand on his faceplates had gone still. After his moment of shock, he placed his cube down beside him and put both hands on his medic's cheeks. They were both smiling now, one of Ratchet's hands coming up to lay over Drift's as he leaned his face into a warm palm. "Oh, Ratchet," Drift whispered, "you're too good to me. You know I'd give up all my time to you if I had the choice."

_"Give up_ your time?" Ratchet asked, raising an optic ridge, but that sly smirk was back once more. "You make it sound like spending time with me is a _sacrifice."_

"When you say things as dumb as that, it _is."_

Ratchet only smiled wider before he lifted his head a bit off of Drift's lap, and the swordsmech met him halfway in the softest kiss imaginable. They stayed that way, Ratchet supporting himself with his palms on either side of him as Drift cradled his helm, lips slotted perfectly together and fields becoming one around them. When they finally parted, they were both venting a little bit heavier, but grinning.

_"Primus_ I love you," Drift breathed. He traced little designs into the plating under Ratchet's jaw line, making the other mech hum happily.

Ratchet pressed his lips against his lover's once more to share a long kiss before pulling away, sitting up. "I love you more. And as much as I enjoy your fingers dancing along my plating, my neck is starting to ache."

Drift was no longer touching him, but he was still smiling and his field generated happy waves of affection, and then gradually growing spikes of teasing arousal. "Dancing along your plating, huh? If you want a dance, I can show you a dance," he murmured. 

"And watch those perfect hips move side to side? I'd have to be dead to say no to that. And even then, it'd be hard to decline." 

Drift snickered before a light dust of a blush rose to his pretty cheeks, and after a moment of contemplation, he stood up from the berth after finishing his energon. "How tired are you?" He asked, offering a hand to his medic.

"Not tired at all, when you put it that way. What's on your mind, love?" He took the pretty black hand, kissed it, and then allowed Drift to pull him up to stand. 

"Well, I _did_ just say that I wanted to show you a dance." When the medic raised an optic ridge, he grinned. "I didn't tell you which one." 

"Oh, so there's more than one?" Ratchet teased, but Drift wasn't fooled by his voice. His field shared his steadily growing desire. 

Drift placed a hand on Ratchet's hip and pulled their frames together tight, lips hovering just above the other mech's as he spoke. "Why don't you come down to Swerve's with me and I'll show you all of them?" 

Ratchet swallowed hard. " _All of them..."_ He echoed. 

Drift shrugged, quite happy with recent developments. "Well... _most_ of them. I'll save the best one for when we get back here." He punctuated his words with a gentle bump of his panel against the medic's.

Ratchet let out an audible moan and hummed as he let Drift tug him out of the hab suite, already drunk on love and lust as they made their way down to Swerve's. 

 

* * *

 

What started out as a horrible night was quickly becoming far more enjoyable than many for Ratchet, and they hadn't even reached the bar yet. He was walking just behind Drift, watching those perfect legs carry that perfect frame down the corridor with that perfect bounce in his step. Hips rocked with that certain _umph_ , after each footfall, his hourglass body leaving the medic's mouth dry. The speedster's confident strut had him speechless, wondering how he could have gotten lucky enough to have a mech he loved so much come with a _frame_ he loved so much. 

Drift swiftly turned and caught him staring... as if Ratchet would have tried to hide it anyways. He dragged his optics slowly from his lover's hips all the way down to his pedes and then all the way back up to the tips of his finials before finally settling on his smiling face. It didn't go unnoticed how Drift didn't become embarrassed or uncomfortable under his gaze. Ratchet shook his head disbelievingly. "You are absolutely gorgeous. So fragging beautiful. If I believed in blessings– and no, I still _don't_ but if I _did_ – you'd definitely count," he babbled on. 

Drift tried not to dwell on his choice of words for too long but it was _hard_ , especially when the very-atheistic medic said things like that, and even without Drift prompting him to. The speedster's chest ached in the best way. Ratchet just... did things to him. Things he couldn't control, things he didn't want to control, making his spark surge in its casing with desire. 

It was absolutely riveting. 

Drift was nearly _disappointed_ when they finally reached Swerve's bar, music blasting and audible for quite a ways before they approached the closed doors. He felt his footfalls lighten up with the beat of the song, he felt Ratchet's field sparkle bright with excitement and the tug on his hand as his lovely medic threw the doors open and headed straight to the busy dance floor.

No, busy was an understatement. It seemed like every mech on the _Lost Light_ was here, dancing, drinking, or a combination of both. It explained why no one was able to relieve him and Drift of their duty shifts back when they should have, but right now, Ratchet couldn't really care less about it. Before he and Drift lost themselves to the music, Ratchet paused to really look around them. He bet himself that he could find far more of the couples getting rather... _familiar_ with each other in the dark corners of the bar, if he'd bothered to look harder. Same goes for the ones getting hammered at the bar counter. And, finally, for the mecha grinding plating against plating and panel against panel as they danced to the music, lost in the rhythm.

Ah... Ratchet felt right at home. But he let himself become distracted by the gentle-yet-insistent pulling on his fingers, Drift leading him to a relatively empty space on the floor, smiles plastered on both of their faceplates. 

Normally, they'd have a few drinks before feeling loose enough to shake it the way they planned, but Drift and Ratchet were both already feeling the need to burn off the excess energy. And so they did.

Ratchet had always been a great dancer and he knew that, calling back on his Party Ambulance days to take him away tonight. Ratchet tapped into those talents and grooved his way through songs, smiling like a youngling. Drift was doing much of the same, the two of them giggling away when they happened to have performed similar actions to accompany the words.

Time flew by as the couple danced the night away. 

Optics trained on Drift, Ratchet watched the speedster just as he glanced back at him, when Drift's own hands ran from the sides of his abdominal plating up to his chestplate, and then his fingertips glided up the sides of his neck before those long, beautiful arms stretched out above his helm. All the while, Drift's hips never stopped rolling in precious little circles that made Ratchet's spark throb. 

Ratchet responded by dragging his fingers along the tops of his lover's thighs, encouraging him to move more and rock into his touch. The glide of Drift's smooth, waxy thighs against the sensitive digits of Ratchet's hands made him shiver and clutch a little tighter to his speedster, making Drift move again, and the cycle repeated. 

By the end of the song they were chest-to-chest and Ratchet's hands were very much feeling up every sensor-packed spot on Drift's frame, making them both gasp and shudder at the touch. They were both enjoying the other's closeness so much, they nearly missed what Swerve was saying over the bar's speakers.

_"-have to get off the dance floor, it's couples' dance!"_ And with that, a slow, sensual song began purring over the speakers and making the mecha all move carefully (as carefully as you can move if you're hopelessly overcharged on engex) against each other. A barely audible _ker-chunk_ sounded in the distance of the bar, but the speedster and the medic were too absorbed in each other to notice or even care.

With a shy blush, Drift had his optics half-lidded and he wore a sly grin as he laid his arms around Ratchet's neck, prompting the medic to press his hands full and flat on that red and white striped waist while they rocked together. Ratchet leaned his chevron against Drift's helm crest and closed his optics, just feeling his lover against him. In return, the curvy speedster pressed full-frame to him and Ratchet held him there, hands not-so-sneakily inching down from his waist to his aft as they swayed gently to the soft music. There was that slightly louder, unfamiliar _ker-chunk_ in the background, neither Drift nor Ratchet had bothered to pay attention to it now, just noise in the background. 

Drift had moved his helm to press a  chaste kiss to the side of Ratchet's neck before leaning in close to his audial. "I like this," he murmured happily, just loud enough that Ratchet could hear it. 

Ratchet hummed his agreement as Drift pressed his face against the warmly pulsing cables by his throat. "I _love_ this," he replied with a grin that Drift couldn't see.

"I love _you_ ,"

Ratchet just chuckled and held him tighter. "I love you, too," he whispered back to him, and closed his optics to lightly rest his helm against the white one pressed to his neck. 

They weren't sure how much time had passed beyond that point. The song had long since changed, and now it had soft and mushy lyrics that Ratchet tried not to care for but couldn't keep his processor from associating them to Drift anyways. It was absolutely ridiculous, how much Drift made Ratchet act so out of the ordinary... he made him all lovey-dovey and gross. It was sometimes shocking and a little embarrassing how _little_ he could get done in the medbay some days because he'd just sit and think about the pretty speedster that he loved so much instead of filling out reports and examining patient files. 

While he was lost in thought with a warm Drift wrapped around him, the rather loud _ker-chunk_ of a switch had startled them both. Ratchet's optics onlined in a split second to look around, but he couldn't see a thing from within the beam of a bright spotlight aside from pairs of softly glowing optics and biolights around them, watching them. Drift had brought his helm back to face Ratchet and he appeared just as confused and a little bit panicked. His  armour hissed as it clamped down a little bit tighter to his frame in a defensive instinct as Ratchet was just about to open his mouth to ask what the pit was going on, but Swerve piped up from behind the microphone.

"Well?" He asked expectantly.

"Well fragging _what?"_ Ratchet snarled. It's not that Ratchet was bothered by being in the limelight, quite the opposite really, but it sure seemed to bother _Drift_ and that made the medic immediately agitated. 

A familiar voice sounded somewhere behind them. "You gonna kiss him or not?" It demanded. Was that _First Aid?_

Ratchet was still looking around the room, making subtle movements to make it appear like he was considering kissing him. He had no problem with it of course, but both he and Drift were high-ranking officers on a ship full of the most ruthlessly sarcastic and teasing mecha this side of the galaxy, and he could put up with that, but he didn't want to put Drift in a position that would make his crewmates think it was okay to disrespect him. So instead of speaking, Ratchet opened a private comlink to his precious speedster. 

_::Drift...::_

After a moment of hesitation, he replied, voice full of shy determination and hunger _. ::Do it. I think I'm ready to make this public. Show them I'm yours. Show them what we do when they can't see us. Show them how much I mean to you, Ratchet.::_

Ratchet didn't need to be told twice, but that didn't stop him from comming back a response that he hoped would have the effect he wanted. 

_::Nothing we can do here could come_ close _to showing you how much you mean to me.::_ And with that, he bent Drift backwards and kissed him with burning fervor, desire flooding his field and inviting Drift's own field out to play. 

Drift _moaned_ at Ratchet's words and pressed back against him, one curvy leg coming to wrap around Ratchet's hip to pull their panels together snugly. Ratchet's engine purred in response and he kept one hand in the centre of Drift's back while the other came down to fully cup that perfect aft, pulling it towards his own frame to get Drift to wrap his leg around him tighter, as well as causing their heated panels to grind against each other. 

Cooling fans clicked on, both Drift's and Ratchet's, as well as those of various mecha around them. The fact that their public display of affection– no, attraction– _absolute desire?–_ could cause several others to be turned on by it was a terribly effective ego boost for Ratchet, and he allowed this perfect kiss to spin on a little bit longer. 

Several moments of searing hot making out passed and then they separated, keeping their forehelms touching and venting hard as their frames contributed their best efforts towards expelling their shared heat.

The bar erupted in whistles and whoops and _"oh my Primus"s,_ and Ratchet barely had time to speak before Drift kissed him hard for one last time. 

In a voice and a field absolutely _molten_ with intent and desire, Drift spoke up. "Let's get out of here."

Ratchet already had trouble denying his speedster anything, but he was completely defenceless against a voice like _that_. He picked up the bundle of Drift, whose thick thighs wrapped around his waist as he walked and their plating bumped together with each step. 

Ratchet chose to keep his optics on Drift instead of anything else, searching for any signs of discomfort or distress on his precious face. There was none to be found, thankfully– but what Ratchet _did_ find was the expression of pure lust glazing over his optics, lips parted on a soft moan, legs clenching tighter around Ratchet's waist as they made their way out of the bar. With every step their plating shifted against the other's, causing their heated panels to bump and grind together the same way it was while they were kissing and it of course did nothing to disperse Drift's desire. 

But there was no way Ratchet was complaining. 

He picked up his pace a little bit and finally made it out of the overcrowded bar, audials ringing slightly from the overstimulation of the loud music and cheering, but he was revved up as hell and ready for more.

Drift was in no better shape than he was in terms of _holding it together_ , the beautiful speedster moaning and cursing and gasping Ratchet's name with an abandon that Ratchet never thought he'd expose to the public. Remembering the intensity of his gaze, the determination in his field and voice alike, how much Drift wanted him to just _claim him already_... oh, it was incredible, the things he did to Ratchet without doing much of anything at _all_.

As Ratchet made their way back to Drift's hab suite, he found himself having significantly more trouble trying to decide why fragging Drift up against the wall this instant was such a bad idea. The way Drift was mouthing at the thick cables that lined his neck made his processor cloud with need and he was acting nearly on base functions just to get them back somewhere private. Then, after they did, maybe if Drift was still willing to show him that dance...

In that moment, Ratchet felt more than heard Drift's voice against his sensitive plating as he spoke. "Ratchet," he whimpered breathlessly, "Ratchet, I'm so hot, oh, Ratchet, please."

The speedster certainly wasn't lying. Ratchet could feel the heat and moisture of his valve leaking through the seams of his panel as it smeared against his own in an intoxicating slide. With a static hiss, Ratchet managed to respond. "I know. You're impossible to resist, Drift, but I need you to hold out for a few more minutes or someone's going to watch you get fragged through the bulkhead right here."

Drift groaned all over again at that. He certainly didn't seem to see the negatives of that notion. "Please, please." 

Just as his begging came to an end, Drift's door came into view and Ratchet kept his pace up. The hands that were under Drift's perfect aft squeezed the tires there _hard_ , making their owner jump with a shuddering gasp. With that, Ratchet heard the soft click and the smooth slide of Drift's panel retracting, and he pushed the entire expanse of the wet protomesh against the medic's overheated plating.

Drift couldn't seem to make himself stop, hips gyrating so that his anterior node ground flat against the panel, and it was a wonder that Ratchet had managed to keep it closed for this long. 

Finally reaching the door of Drift's hab, Ratchet had to take a break before legitimately considering fragging this mech _right here, right now._ Instead, he pressed Drift's back against the door, causing him to moan and squirm at the reduced freedom of movement– but increased pressure– against his node. Ratchet pressed his lips to the warm audial flare that jutted so beautifully from Drift's helm, and he began grinding against the swordsmech's valve with his panel as he spoke. "You gonna be good?" He asked, voice growly and low as he shifted, the lip of his panel catching on Drift's node to make him cry out.

_"Ratchet,"_ he gasped, but Ratchet only did it again until he could find the words to get him to do _more. "_ Yes, I'll be good– oh _slag_ right there–"

But before he could push back against the pressure on his valve, Ratchet loosened his grip on both him and the wall as he punched in the code to the door, allowing them just enough time to slip inside before the door shut with a satisfying _thunk_. "Ratchet," he moaned again. He wasn't even sure what he was asking for, but he wanted it, whatever it was.

In a matter of seconds, Drift was dropped back on his feet again right in front of Ratchet and the medic wasted no time in getting his hands back on those luscious curves. Optics half-lidded, Ratchet spoke quietly as he looked at him, nudging his chevron affectionately against Drift's crest. "So, about that dance," he suggested nonchalantly. 

After Drift composed himself, he grinned, wide and bright enough for his sharply-pointed teeth to show and his optics to turn into nothing but glowing slivers. 

Taking it as an invitation, Ratchet pressed on, "I'm still very excited to see it, if you're willing to share it with me." 

Taking Ratchet's hand in his own and leading him to the edge of the large sofa adorning his suite for his lover to sit on, Drift slid gracefully into his lap, sliding one thick thigh up against Ratchet's hips at a time. "I'm willing to share anything with you, Ratchet," he purred, and the rev and steady rumble of the medic's engine told Drift that, oh, his lover was already enjoying this _very_ much. Drift had to admit that he was enjoying himself quite thoroughly as well, his processor spinning with all the ideas fluttering through it. Two red hands slid up the surface of his thighs and then came to a rest at the flare of his waist, not making any effort to restrain or move, just feeling. 

The touch seemed to have reminded Drift of his plan and he leaned down and forwards, lips just a hairsbreadth away from Ratchet's, before Ratchet heard a wet noise and felt his speedster's soft gasp against his plating. Ratchet saw Drift rock forward a little bit, a blissed-out expression on his face as he pressed back, that wet slide earning a low moan from him. "Drift... are you...?" Ratchet rasped. 

"Fingering myself while– _frag_ – straddling your lap?" Drift supplied cheekily, faceplates flushing enough for their radiating heat to be felt before he leaned back and tilted his hips forwards, wet valve on display. He kept one hand anchored on Ratchet's shoulder while he rocked against his own fingers, which were absolutely dripping with his own lubricants _. "Yes,"_ he hissed.

Ratchet couldn't help but moan low and loud at the sight of this gorgeous mech fragging himself over his lap, and he gave up the battle of holding back his hunger and reached one hand between both of Drift's legs, stroking along the speedster's own hand while he was busy shifting his hips. 

Drift, taking the hint, removed his fingers and Ratchet wasted no time in replacing the emptiness with his own, pushing two inside while Drift keened and groaned over him. The sight of Drift sucking his soaked servo between his own pretty lips was enough to get Ratchet's fans kicking up a notch, and when Drift moved both hands to rest behind him on the medic's thighs while he rocked his hips down on Ratchet's fingers... well. 

He allowed his burning interface panel snapping away and his spike and valve covers spiraling open to provide Drift with every hint that he was fragging sexy as hell, and Ratchet couldn't handle just how the swordsmech showed it.

When Ratchet's spike immediately pressurized between them, he took his hands away so that Drift could do as he pleased with him. The damn pretty mech took this as an invitation to grind his valve _hard_ against Ratchet's sensitive spike, the pleated ridges nudging up against his anterior node. Waves of pleasure washed over them both and Ratchet involuntarily thrust his hips up against that sweet, wet valve, gasping his lover's name. Crackles of charge were building between their frames, signaling to them that they were both near overload, but before Drift could let them tip over the edge, he (albeit reluctantly) pulled away. 

"Drift...!" Ratchet whined, spinal strut arching like a bow like his whole body was trying to chase after that lingering touch, but fell silent after watching Drift's spike cover spin open and the hard, perfect spike emerging from behind it. The sneaky speedster didn't waste time teasing, however, and only chuckled a little bit as he nudged Ratchet's thighs apart with his knee. Ratchet opened them obediently, allowing their legs to interlock before he even bothered asking what Drift was planning. 

With a quiet gasp, Ratchet felt Drift's hand grasp behind his knee so that he could haul the medic's leg up onto his shoulder. Ratchet hissed both at the stretch and at the feeling of his valve being put on such obscene display, ready for what Drift wanted to do to him. 

Drift kept straddling his lap but he pulled their frames in closer, and instead of spiking him like the medic was expecting (and thoroughly looking forward to), he felt the hot pressure of Drift's valve lips against his own while he rocked his hips in perfect little motions to rub their anterior nodes together wonderfully.

"Oh, _Drift, yes,"_ Ratchet moaned, and did his best to push back against that pretty valve at the downstroke of Drift's hips, though it was hard to do while he was held in such a restraining position. 

The expression on Drift's face followed by the low groan from his vocalizer told Ratchet that his efforts were much appreciated. "Ratchet, _Primus_ you're so fragging hot, I love it when you moan my name like that," Drift mumbled, bending down slightly to kiss him hard and deep, while he ground against him in much of the same manner. 

"Keep doing that and I'll be moaning nothing _but_ your name, sweetspark," Ratchet gasped as they parted just slightly. His field pulsed strongly with adoration and affection and Drift's lips fell open on a moan, and when Ratchet saw the chance to press his glossa into that warm mouth, the swordsmech latching onto Ratchet's own mouth not long after.

Lubricants mixed and valves rubbed, and it wasn't until he felt the squeeze of the speedster's thigh on his waist did Ratchet have his best idea thus far. Reaching one hand up to Drift's pretty audial flare, he stroked it in just the way he _loved_ while guiding him into a strut-melting kiss. Their lips locked together perfectly, glossas gliding, moans muffled and optics shuttered. Then Ratchet brought his other hand to Drift's array, taking a rather firm hold of the speedster's spike and stroking up and down once, spreading the beads of lubricant over the exquisite plating. 

"R-Ratchet–!" Drift choked out, pressing his forehelm crest against Ratchet's chevron as he both thrust his hips upwards into the tight grip and rocked their valves together with a force that made both of them shudder. Ratchet's extremely sensitive hands picked up every bump, ridge and plane of Drift's spike and it felt _incredible_ , and Drift wrapped his own hand around Ratchet's spike in a gesture of _let me make you feel as good as you make me feel._

Charge gathered between them more quickly than ever as they stroked each other's sensitive spots as well as their spikes, and the rocking of their slick valves together was becoming too much to handle. 

When Drift's node pressed head-on with Ratchet's and they both keened and moaned, it was the sounds they both made and the absolutely raw _pleasure_ and _love_ in their entangled fields and the pressure on their plating that threw them over the edge at the same time, transfluid spattering out onto both of their chests and abdominal plates, waves of lubricant smearing between their still-shifting valves, hands tensing around the other's spike and the absolutely _wrecked_ expressions painting each other's faceplates. 

As Drift's spike throbbed as he overloaded, the hypersensitive sensory bundles in Ratchet's fingertips picked up every single tremor and _holy fragging Primus_ the feeling was _beyond_ hot. It drew out Ratchet's own overload and he squeezed his optics shut as his valve calipers clenched in waves around nothing and his plating was drenched in their shared transfluid. 

The grip of Ratchet's hand on Drift's sensitive finial must have tightened because the speedster's overload still hadn't completely passed, more lubricants dripping from his valve, down Ratchet's valve to his aft and then finally onto the sofa cushions beneath him. 

The sensation of pleasure shifting to overstimulation began to settle into their fields so they finally pulled their hands away from each other, completely sated and exhausted from such powerful overloads. Drift flashed him one of those beautiful smiles and kissed him slow and sweet, one which Ratchet happily returned. The leg that was hoisted up on Drift's shoulder had been gently lowered and released, now draped over Drift's thigh. The hands that were roaming sensitive plating now sat comfortingly around each other. Absolute, unadulterated _bliss_ rang clear in their fields, and the pure affection behind their tired gazes didn't go anywhere near unnoticed.

"How was _that_ for a dance?" Drift purred quietly. He was stroking his thumb along the medic's cheek, looking into his optics and smiling. 

Ratchet turned his head and pressed a soft kiss to Drift's palm before grinning right back. "I'd say you're the best damn dancer in this sector of the galaxy."

"Just the galaxy?"

Ratchet rolled his optics, but with a fond wave of his field. "The moment this ship arrives at a new galaxy, we can _dance_ again. Then you can be the best dancer in _that_ galaxy," he murmured cheekily. 

Drift only grinned before he kissed Ratchet once on the lips, then he rolled off of him in one swift movement to lay down on the couch. He sighed and stretched his frame, wasting no effort in making it look as alluring as possible– like it was hard, Ratchet found him sexy no matter what and the medic wasn't afraid to show it. Much like he was now, watching him with such blatant admiration... it made Drift's spark soar.  "You look pretty good covered in our transfluid," Ratchet teased. 

With a snicker and a light blush, Drift laid his helm gently on the cushiony armrest of the sofa, opening his arms and smiling– an invitation which Ratchet couldn't refuse. The medic slid his frame between the speedster's legs and settled his helm on the white chestplate that he found so beautiful. One strong arm banded around Drift's tight waist and Ratchet placed a sweet, gentle kiss on the centre of that pretty chest, earning a contented hum from Drift. Ratchet's free hand lay by the speedster's own and he barely fought off the desire to grasp it, to entwine their fingers together.

A black hand came up to stroke along his lover's wonderfully sensitive chevron, making Ratchet's field pulse with unfiltered love. He groaned quietly, letting Drift know that he appreciated the gesture as minutes passed, but before he could fall asleep, he spoke up. 

"Drift?" He asked sleepily. 

"Yes, love?" 

Ratchet smiled at the affectionate term, one he often used on Drift. "That was amazing." 

The hand that wasn't stroking along his chevron wrapped around Ratchet's, and that was when the medic gave in and shifted so that their fingers laced together in a perfect fit. " _You're_ amazing, you know that?"

"You make me amazing," Drift responded slowly.

"Oh no, I don't. You do a damn fine job of that on your own." But Ratchet's field flared with affection at the idea of that being true– the thought that Ratchet could make this already sweet, strong, gentle, caring mech act the way he does, but he tried not to let it show too much. The light squeeze of Drift's hand against his own meant that he already felt the same way. "But... if that's true, then I suppose you do the same to me," he whispered. 

Drift's field displayed how much he _didn't_ believe that, which made Ratchet's press out in a wave of displeasure. _Shut up for once and accept the compliment,_ Ratchet wanted to (mostly) joke, but he couldn't make himself do it. Instead, he responded with a gentle "It's okay if you don't think it's true." Well, actually it _wasn't_ – "but _I_ think it is, so that's what's important."

Drift was silent for a long time aside from the brief flicker of surprise in his field. That gentle caress on his chevron had paused as well, making the medic just a tad bit upset at the loss, and he was about to ask what was wrong before the speedster replied in an impossibly quiet voice.

"Alright," he agreed. "Fine, but because I need to one-up you, let it be known that I'll always love you more." His field was teasing against Ratchet's and he could hear the smile in his voice, making the medic grin right back.

_This_ was the Drift he loved. Raising up on his forearms, he looked Drift in the optics as his shone bright with determination, much of the same way they had back while they were dancing in Swerve's bar. "That a challenge, sweetspark?" He asked, bringing their lips together briefly. Drift winked and a small giggle worked its way from his vocalizer, making Ratchet smile wider. 

"Mm, it might be," he purred, wrapping his arms around his lover's neck with exaggerated motions before dragging him in for one more soft kiss. "But I think you might be interested in the rewards." 

Ratchet scooped a hand under Drift's aft and squeezed, relishing in the quiet gasp it earned him. 

"I think you might be right." 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Comments, kudos and bookmarks would really help me out! <3  
> ***  
> Follow my n/sfw Transformers headcanon blog on tumblr: [@more-than-meets-the-canon](http://more-than-meets-the-canon.tumblr.com/)


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